


Measures of Progress

by renecdote



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Brotherly Love, Dick is a Good Brother, Family, Fluff, Gen, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 08:52:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11963979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renecdote/pseuds/renecdote
Summary: At some point they go from being mentor and student, Batman and Robin, to brothers. Dick isn't sure exactly when that point was, but he remembers the journey from then to now fondly.(Aka ten ficlets for ten times Dick carried Damian.)





	Measures of Progress

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pentapus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pentapus/gifts).



> Written for the Batfamily Reverse Big Bang to go with the lovely [art](https://pentapoda.tumblr.com/post/165061339263/a-batfamreversebigbang-prompt-for-this-story%22) by [pentapoda](https://pentapoda.tumblr.com/).

[1] 

 

The first time Dick carries his youngest brother, he’s unconscious. As far as he can tell, Robin is not seriously injured, just knocked out, but that doesn’t stop the worry that gnaws at his heart as he cradles the still body closer to his chest. A few wispy hairs tickle his jaw and even though he knows he can’t through the thick kevlar of the suit, he imagines he can feel the warm puffs of breath against his neck. Soft exhalations to remind him that Damian is alive, he’s okay, the night didn’t end as badly as it could have. Thoughts of just how badly it could have been have him tightening his grip 

If Damian was awake, this would not be happening. He would have insisted he was fine, stumbled around on shaky legs as the last of whatever drug they injected him with worked its way out of his system. Dick would have rolled his eyes and scooped him up after a few seconds anyway, but it wouldn’t have been as peaceful an experience. He likely wouldn’t have gotten them home without a few scratches or bite marks.

The body in his arms stirs, Damian’s nose scrunching up adorably, muscles coiling tightly beneath the skintight Robin suit, and Dick holds his breath. It may be selfish, but he doesn’t want his brother to wake up just yet, doesn’t want the moment to end. After several tense seconds though, Damian relaxes again, melting against the Batman logo adorning Dick’s chest. He could, in this moment, be any kid who has fallen asleep in their parents arms, being carried to the car to go home from a party or a family dinner. If it weren’t for the mask and the cape draped over Dick’s arm. The uniform is just one more reminder that Damian didn’t just fall asleep after some family event, that he’s not just a normal kid, that Dick isn’t even his father let alone a normal one.

But this? Him feeling relaxed and unguarded and safe in the arms of his family? This needs to happen more often. Dick promises to himself that he’ll do better, act less like a mentor and more like a big brother more often. It’s the least the newest addition to their family deserves.

[2]

The second time Dick carries his brother, he’s very much conscious. Squirming and seething, hurling insults at Dick and Tim in turn (though mostly Tim). Dick bites back a sigh, tips his head back to narrowly avoid a wildly swinging fist to the jaw, and shifts his grip so he can heft Damian over his shoulder. Alfred is holding back an equally furious, but not quite so wriggly, Tim with a warning hand clamped around his arm. Dick suspects the only reason he hasn’t pulled free is because it’s Alfred.

“That’s enough!” Dick snaps, patience worn thin from days of playing peacemaker, interrupting shouting matches, walking the fine line between placating and not picking sides. Walking in on them brawling in the kitchen after a long night of patrol had been the last straw. “I know we’re all a little stressed right now-“ Tim snorts; Dick glares at him. “-but beating the shit out of each other for some perceived slight is not an acceptable way to deal with it.”

It’s a little hypocritical, he thinks, since beating the shit out of something, even if it’s just a practice dummy, sounds like a really good idea right now. But he has to be the good example, the big brother and parental figure all tangled in one giant, slowly unravelling ball of yarn. 

“Drake started it!” Damian is quick to hiss, twisting and scrabbling at Dick’s back, trying to pull himself even further over so he can roll under Dick’s arm and out of the hold. Dick tightens the arm across the back of his knees and tries not to wince when a bony elbow gets him in the back of the head. His growing headache throbs sharply in response.

“I don’t care who started it,” he says. This is the part where Bruce would let a little bit of Batman’s growl slip into his voice, he thinks, just enough to make them shut up and listen for even one second. But Dick only sounds tired when he tells them, “It ends now. Next one to start a fight - physical or otherwise - is grounded.”

Damian lets out a wordless snarl, probably angry that he’s being treated like a child. If Dick wasn’t so tired and frustrated right now, his heart would likely ache at the reminder that Damian’s childhood was so far from normal he might not even know what it really means to be grounded.

“Dick-” Tim starts and he sounds a little shocked. As though being a newly emancipated minor and not strictly under Dick’s care means he’s going to get out of being treated like a child even though insists on acting like one every time he and Damian are in a room together.

Dick holds up the hand not keeping Damian in place to silence Tim. “I don’t want to hear it.” He sighs, exchanges a weary look with Alfred. “It’s late, we all have places to be tomorrow, I think it’s time everyone went to bed.”

He doesn’t give either of his siblings time to argue, just turns on his heel and carries Damian through the penthouse to his bedroom. He tosses his brother on the bed, gently because he may be mad but he’s not an arsehole, then steps back out of kicking range. Damian buries himself under the covers and pointedly turns his back to Dick. He bites back another sigh.

“Goodnight, Damian.”

He’s really not surprised that he doesn’t get a reply.

[3]

The third time starts with the heart-stopping dread that he’s never going to get to see, let alone carry, his little brother ever again. Batman has been after a human trafficking ring that left a body on the steps of the children’s hospital two nights ago. Robin has been missing for thirty-seven of the forty-eight hours it’s taken Dick and Tim to track down their base of operations and Dick spends every second of that time praying that Damian has just gone off on one of his troublemaking escapades and the timing is nothing more than a coincidence. 

Ha. He can’t even kid himself. Batman doesn’t believe in coincidences.

By the time they find the gang in a warehouse down near Brown Bridge, he’s just praying that Damian is still alive and still in the city. 

For once, Lady Luck is in his corner. A quick scope of the building, with the help of Oracle’s cameras and a few tiny bat-shaped drones, reveals one brightly coloured figure among the people locked in several cell-like rooms at the back of the building. Priority number one is taking down the handful of men scattered throughout the main room. Dick may be a little more vicious than usual but from the sounds of metal hitting flesh behind him, Red Robin isn’t holding back either. Once all seven gang members are knocked out and tied up, Red goes out to keep watch while Batman heads toward the back. Priority number two is getting Robin out. Together they’ll be able to make quick work of the rest of the captives.

They work seamlessly, professionally, until all the other people are let out and safely outside, away form harm. Only then, when they’re the only ones left in the cell-like backrooms, does Dick drop to his knees and pull a trembling Robin into his arms. Damian lets out a stuttering breath and leans into the hold, fingers curling against the unyielding material of his suit. He’s not crying, like another kid surely would be, but it’s only the lack of tears sliding through the grime on his cheeks that are missing from what would be a very appropriate emotional breakdown.

“Shh,” Dick murmurs, smoothing down tangled, sweat-spiked hair with a shaky hand. He’s not sure whether it’s from the crushing relief or the waning adrenaline high, but he feels like he might collapse if it weren’t for the armful of preteen keeping him crouched on the dirty concrete floor. “You’re okay, I’ve got you.”

_“GCPD eta two minutes,”_ Red Robin reports over the comms. _“You guys should get out of there.”_

Dick forces himself to loosen one arm from around his baby brother to reach up and unmute his comm to confirm that he’s heard and they’re on their way out. Damian doesn’t protest when Dick lifts him up, the position a little uncomfortable because he really is too big to be carried like this, and it’s only a few slightly-unsteady steps before he loops his arms around Dick’s neck and tucks his head against his shoulder. Dick takes a moment to close his eyes and centre himself, focusing on the warm body in his arms. When they meet up with Red Robin outside, Damian will surely wriggle out of his grasp to stand on his own, determined to prove that he’s fine and being captured by a human trafficking ring didn’t shake him at all, so Dick makes sure to enjoy this moment that he has for the few seconds that it lasts.

[4]

The fourth time… the fourth time is one of Dick’s fondest memories from his time under the cowl. It’s one of those rare slow, lazy nights where none of the Big Bads are out, the general scum of the city are easily handled by the Birds of Prey, and they have no case more urgent than the string of B&Es that have them sitting on a rooftop opposite one of the larger townhouses in and around Gotham Heights. So far all the houses that the thief has hit have been empty, the owners off traipsing around the globe on expensive holidays or glamorous business trips. Usually Batman would let the GCPD handle a case like this, but there have been rumours that the thefts are part of some kind of cult initiations so he wants to be ready to take action as soon as possible. Before they upgrade from stealing to more sinister crimes. Personally, Dick is kind of hoping it’s just Catwoman and the rumours are just meant to throw them off her trail.

Damian had spent the first hour of the stakeout sitting still and quiet beside him, not quite close enough for their armour-clad shoulders to brush. It had been a nice quiet, not tense or suffocating or awkward, but companionable. The silence of people who don’t need to talk to communicate. The silence of partners.

Another half an hour and there still hadn’t been any signs of burglary. Dick remembers stakeouts when he was Robin, fidgeting beside Batman as he struggled between being patient and needing to burn off pent up energy. Even now, his attention is starting to drift and he’s contemplating the risks of having a conversation and possibly drawing attention versus the benefit of alleviating the restlessness that’s starting to settle in his bones. He’d expected Damian to be the same, although probably more vocal about his boredom - not that he’d phrase it like that because god forbid the son of Batman get bored on the job - than Dick had been as a child. But Robin has barely moved for the last twenty minutes and he’s been completely silent even longer.

A curious glance to the side reveals that Damian appears to still be staring at the house they’re observing with avid attention, but his chin is pillowed on his arms atop his bent knees and Dick suspects that, behind the white lenses of the domino mask, his eyes are closed. Even the weight of the cowl can’t stop him grinning a little. He doesn't get as much time to appreciate it as he'd like, but when his little brother lets his guard down and actually acts his age, he's really quite cute. Although he'd probably maim anyone who said that to his face.

Turning his attention back to the house to do another sweep of the grounds, Dick reaches up and taps his comm. "Oracle?" he says quietly, waits for her affirmative greeting before adding, "Robin and I are calling it an early night. Do you have anyone in the area in case our thief does show up later?"

_"Huntress is in Newtown, she can get there if anything happens,"_ Oracle replies.

Assured that the case will be taken care of (if there is anything to take care of, and he doubts there will be), Dick stands and stretches before reaching down and picking his brother up. He manages to slide them both off the roof without waking Damian or the house's ignorant occupants and gives himself a mental pat on the back as he creeps through ornamental foliage to get back to where they hid the Batmobile. Damian is a deadweight in his arms the whole time, still except for the slow rise and fall of his chest and uncharacteristically compliant as Dick manipulates his wiry limbs to carry him more comfortably. It's only when they reach the Batmobile and the car beeps as it's unlocked that Damian begins to stir.

“Mm, Grayson?” he mumbles, wriggling a little in a half-hearted attempt to push Dick away as he's lowered into the passenger seat. "Wha's going on?"

"Nothing, Dami, go back to sleep. We'll be home soon."

Damian gives a sleepy grunt, tucking his knees up to his chest and making himself comfortable as Dick rounds the car and gets in the driver's side. He suspects exhaustion from several mostly-sleepless nights is the reason his brother isn't awake and protesting going home early right now. Dick makes sure to drive back extra carefully to ensure he doesn't accidentally jar Damian awake again because he clearly needs a good night's sleep. And Dick will make sure he gets it even if it means risking the wrath that carrying him up to bed and tucking him will surely bring him in the morning.

[5]

The fifth time, it’s a mutual decision that carrying Damian is the most efficient way to get them both back to the cave before sunrise. Even if their communicators hadn’t both been lost, it’s late enough in the morning that calling the Batmobile to pick them up would be risky. Too much light in the sky at this time of day, too many people pouring out of apartment buildings and starting to fill the street. And aside from mostly minor injuries, they're fine, so there's no need to call for help and risk more vigilantes being spotted. Or risk their own limbs by waking up any of the vigilantes who've probably only just gone to bed.

Damian is a solid, warm weight against his back, his (even, steady, thank god the night didn't end any worse) breath warm against his ear as he protests for the hundredth time, "I can walk, Grayson."

Dick is getting a little sick of hearing it because maybe he can but he has a  _twisted ankle_  that should not have weight put on it before Alfred can examine how bad it is, so no matter how capable Damian thinks he is, "That doesn't mean you're going to."

Damian huffs, his weight sinking down as he slumps in defeat, chin coming to rest on Dick's shoulder. They traverse the dwindling shadows of three more rooftops in silence before he fishes something out of his belt then leans forward a few seconds later to shove his phone in Dick’s face. “What does this combination of faces mean?" he asks and Dick has to tilt his head back a bit to get a clearer view of the emojis on the screen. "I believe Kent is insulting me but I am not sure how and I must know if I am going to retaliate appropriately."

Dick just stops and blinks for a long moment, brain short-circuiting as it tries to catch up with the situation because- "You've had your phone on your _this whole time_?"

"Tt. Obviously." The phone is pulled back up over his shoulder as Damian taps at the screen. "I would have mentioned it but we already agreed we did not need to call for backup."

Which is true, but still, if Dick had known they had a way to call for backup he might have considered it a little longer. As it is, they'd decided getting to the bunker under the penthouse as quickly as possible was the best plan. Then they would alert Batman and Oracle that they were fine but had been delayed because some _imbecile_ (that was Damian's word, Dick preferred _lucky bastard_ ) had somehow managed to accidentally lock them in a lead-lined shipping container for three hours. Dick still isn't exactly sure how it happened, but he's blaming a combination of their bad luck, a poorly chosen hiding spot and probably the only dock worker in all of Gotham who did his job properly and made sure shipments were securely locked before they were loaded. The whole thing is actually a bit embarrassing and Dick plans to give a simple report of the night to Batman then never talk about it again.

Except for this bit probably; Damian willingly accepting piggy-back rides is a rare phenomenon that he'll be sure to keep alive in not only his memories but those of everyone he shares the story with. And not only is he not complaining (much), but he's relaxed and comfortable. Dick give the legs around his waist a quick squeeze as he jumps the gap to the last building between them an their goal. As glad as he is to be able to get off the streets, he's almost sad that they managed to get here as fast as they did. He's just starting to get properly used to the feeling of his brother on his back, the pressure of a small body and the settling centre of gravity, and he's reluctant to let go of the warm weight already.

"Finally, we're home," Damian mutters by his ear, but his arm his still wrapped securely around Dick's neck and when he eventually slides off to land on the bunker's concrete floor, Dick imagines the movement is as reluctant as his own when he loosens his grip. Or maybe it's not so imagined, he thinks when Damian's hand finds his arm to balance so he doesn't have to walk on his injured ankle. 

[6]

The sixth time, Damian is too out of it to remember. Dick’s a little fuzzy himself and although he can remember the warm weight of his brother against his back as he stumbled along empty streets, he has no idea how they managed to get back to the Batcave. Nightwing and Robin had partnered up while Batman was out of town to take down Poison Ivy after she broke out of Arkham. They fall back into their old partnership easily, moving seamlessly to cover each other and cut through the vines that tried to wrap around their ankles and chests and throats. The thrill of how perfectly they move together almost made Dick giddy. He’s been in Bludhaven for almost two months and he’s missed his little brother. From the tiny smile on Damian’s lips as he slashes through a particularly insistent vine, he’s missed him too. 

But the good mood is ruined only a handful of minutes later. When they get to the middle of the greenhouse, Ivy is waiting for them. Her smile is as poisonous as the engineered seed pods that a furious yucca plant spits at them. Dick ducks, rolls and comes up beside a bush that quivers then shrivels in on itself. He looks up just in time to see Robin’s boot connect with Ivy’s hip, sending the villainous stumbling backwards with an angry hiss, and plants curling forward to protect her, and then-

They get out. Somehow. There’s smoke thickening the air and he’s tugging on Robin’s cape, tripping over dead vines and weaving past potted plants and then they’re out in fresh air that does nothing to clear his head. Robin coughs and Dick drops to one knee to pull him closer and check him over to make sure he’s okay. Maybe ask whether he’s any clearer on what the hell just happened. He expects protests, a pinched frown, insistent claims that he’s fine. What he gets is an armful of woozy preteen.

“Okay,” Dick mutters, clutching Damian to his chest so he doesn’t sink to the ground in a puddle. He blinks, shakes his head, forces himself to focus. It doesn’t really work but Ivy is probably still around here somewhere so he has to _try_. “We need to get out of here,” he says aloud, hoping Damian is with it enough to hear and stand up and take steps toward executing that plan. He isn’t. Instead, Dick moves him around until there are two arms draped around his neck and then he hooks his hands under his brother’s legs and stands up. The first step is shaky, far from his usual grace. He wishes he could say the second or the third or any of the ones are that were an improvement but they really weren’t. 

He’s pretty sure he has the Batmobile’s autopilot function to thank for getting them back to the cave. Probably Alfred as well. All Dick knows is that they get away and they get home because he wakes up in a cot in the med bay and when he turns his head to look, Damian is curled up on the other cot, face slack as he sleeps off the effects of whatever they got dosed with. Dick smiles and lets the relief that washes over him drag him back under.

[7]

The seventh time is preceded by a joyous shout of “Grayson!”. It’s the only warning Dick gets before ninety pounds of little brother are flying at him from halfway up the main staircase. He has barely enough time to drop his duffel bag and open his arms in time to catch Damian and spin him around with momentum that would have otherwise sent them crashing to the ground. He wonders, in the part of his mind that isn’t thrilled at the reception, whether taking him down was his brother’s intention.

Dick laughs, squeezing his brother around the middle. "Hey, Little D. I missed you too."

Damian scoffs but he settles into Dick's hold easily enough when he's not immediately put down. "You said you'd only be a few days at most. It's been weeks!"

Yeah, weeks of filtered air and bland space rations. Dick wishes it had only been the few days they'd expected the mission to take, but off-world adventures aren't always as glamorous as the JLA makes them seem and sometimes peace negotiations backfire and cause an alien civil war. "Sorry, Dami. But, hey, I did make it back before your birthday." Only by a day, but still. "And I brought you a present."

Damian tries to maintain his aloof attitude but it's impossible to miss the way he perks up at the promise of a present. "It had better be good, Grayson. Father promised me a horse and that will be hard to beat."

Dick laughs again, shifting his grip on his brother's legs and hefting him up so he flops over his shoulder. He digs his fingers into the flesh behind his knees as he does so and is rewarded by a quickly-muffled giggle and a half-hearted jab to his side. "Come on, your present is in the cave. Maybe if you can beat me in a spar I'll let you have it early."

As he begins walking toward the cave entrance, Damian doesn't ask to be put down and Dick doesn't offer. 

[8]

The eighth time causes a whirlwind of media attention. Well, it’s not just Dick carrying Damian that has every one of Gotham’s reporters falling over themselves to get an interview or a photo, it’s the events leading up to it. It just so happens that the only-slightly-blurry shot of Dick pausing to talk to Commissioner Gordon with an unusually subdued Damian being carried on his back like a baby koala is the one that gets published with every article about the kidnapping. 

You’d think that, between his vigilante life and being the son of a billionaire, Dick would be used to kidnappings by now. But it’s different when it’s your baby brother, who may have been trained as an assassin but is still only eleven years old. The whole ordeal probably wouldn’t have stressed him out so much if it had happened as Robin, but knowing that Damian wouldn’t be able to use his full skillset to get away as a, supposedly harmless, civilian added a new layer of anxiety to an already tense situation. 

The publicity surrounding the situation meant they had to handle it officially as well as unofficially. Dick Grayson, concerned big brother, represented the family in the public eye while Alfred helped Red Robin and Red Hood track him down behind the scenes. Bruce was out of country on Batman Inc. business and even though he gets in a jet as soon as he hears what happened, he's still a few hours out when they find Damian. So it's Dick who gets to follow Lieutenant Bullock into a deceptively-quaint house in Otisburg and retrieve his brother.

Damian insists that he's fine, that he wasn't even hurt, just knocked out and tied up, but whatever drugs they knocked him out with are still making his speech slur and his eyes droop. Dick hoists him onto his back when he stumbles walking up the stairs out of the basement and he gets a mumbled protest even as Damian's fingers curl into his collar and he rests his cheek against the back of Dick's neck. Dick jostles him a little, says, "Hey, don't go to sleep just yet, Gordon still needs your statement and the EMTs will want to look you over."

"'M fine," Damian says again. He yawns then adds, "You're here."

And maybe it's the drugs talking or maybe it's not, maybe it's just been a really emotional night for all of them and Damian is glad to be held by gentle, familiar, caring hands. Either way, it fills Dick with a surge of warmth that is echoed by the body against his back.

[9]

The ninth time starts with a phone call. It's almost four a.m. and Dick has just stripped out of his Nightwing uniform and collapsed into bed when his phone trills from the bedside table. He groans and pulls a pillow over his head, determined to ignore anything that isn't the end of the world until he's had at least nine hours of consecutive sleep. Unfortunately, his phone has other ideas. It rings three more times without pause before Dick snatches it up with a growl and snaps, "What?" with none of the polite phone etiquette Alfred taught him to use.

The voice on the other end of the line sounds just as grumpy when it says, _"I think you lost something."_

"What?" Dick repeats, now more confused than angry because what on earth could he have lost that _Jason_  would have found?

_"About four-foot-nothing, bad attitude, dresses like a traffic light. Sound familiar?"_

Damian. Of course. "He's supposed to be benched, where'd you find him?"

" _Coventry, down near the Prang_ ," Jason says and now that he's a little more invested in the conversation, Dick can recognise the irritation as a manifestation of his concern. " _Don't know what he was doing down there but I think it may have had something to do with Scarecrow's escape from Arkham. Kid's so hopped up on fear gas he didn't even recognise me, just kept asking for you. Managed to give him an antidote and drag him back to a safe house but he's still jumping at shadows."_

Dick sits up, swinging his legs out of bed and sending one last longing glance toward his pillow as he reaches for the closest pair of pants. "I'll be there as soon as I can," he promises. "What's the address?"

Jason rattles off an address in Burnley and Dick breaks half a dozen road laws to get there. When he finally knocks on the door of a fifth-floor apartment in a rundown building squashed between other rundown buildings, Jason looks nothing short of relieved to see him. Apparently, Damian has wedged himself into the narrow gap between the sink and the bathtub in the bathroom and no amount of Jason coaxing or reassuring has gotten him out. 

"Dami?" Dick asks softly, crouching down in front of the boy, "It's Dick. You wanna come out?"

"Gr-grayson?" Damian stutters, peeking out of the ball he's curled himself into to fix wide, watery green eyes on Dick. 

"Yeah, Dami, I'm here. You're okay now."

A few minutes later, Dick is pacing Jason's living room with an abnormally clingy Damian in his arms. He rubs his brother's back and murmurs every soothing word or phrase he can think of until his lips are numb and Damian has finally relaxed enough to fall into a restless sleep. The whole time, Jason is a silently hovering presence in the kitchen doorway. With Damian now calm and settled in his arms, Dick turns to his other younger brother with a slight frown.

"Why didn't you call Bruce? Or Alfred?" he asks. They were closer and even if Jason hardly ever has a civil conversation with Bruce, he and Alfred are still on good terms. Surely it would have been easier to call one of them to come fetch the lost Robin.

Jason gives him an indecipherable look. "He wasn't asking for Bruce or Alfred."

[10]

After the tenth time, Dick stops counting. He can remember the slick feeling of blood coating his hands and the utter stillness of limp limbs and an unmoving chest, paling skin that became cooler with every passing second. It’s a memory he never wants to live through again, one he wants to scrub out of his brain with bleach. Damian is back now so he shouldn’t still be seeing his corpse, but the images that still haunt his dreams are too vivid to just blink away.

He suspects Damian is having the same problem, if finding him curled up on the couch in the den at four a.m. fighting to keep bloodshot eyes open is any indication. Dick shuffles his feet to announce his presence as he enters the room, casting only a cursory glance at the cartoon playing on the television before sinking into the spare space on the couch beside his brother. It's a sign of just how much Damian has changed since they first started out as Batman and Robin that he doesn't even hesitate to turn around and curl up against Dick's chest when he opens his arms. 

Dick strokes his hair and thinks about all the comforting things he could say, but the words fizzle out before they reach his lips. If this were Tim or Jason he wouldn't hesitate to tell them that everything is going to be okay, that big brother is here to take care of them, but Damian, just like Cass, has always responded better to actions than words. So he leans down to kiss the top of Damian's hair and then they just sit, breathing together, until the body in his arms relaxes fully and Damian's eyes flutter shut. Only then does Dick move, standing up carefully and cradling his baby brother close to his heart as he walks through the Manor's dark hallways to find a bed that will be much more comfortable than the couch. 

He pauses in the doorway of Damian's bedroom and takes a deep breath, smells the subtle herbal scent of his brother’s shampoo, relishes in the tickle of soft tufts of hair against his jaw. His bruised shoulder throbs in protest at the weight in his arms, but it’s easy to ignore the discomfort. Damian is warm and solid and very much alive in his arms. Nothing else matters, except that he’ll be able to do this again and again for as many days or weeks or months or years as he wants. He had to let go of his little brother once, he’s not going to do it again.

He turns back into the hall and heads toward his own room. He knows they'll both sleep better if they're not alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: the number ten was not randomly chosen. It is linked to the Wheel of Fortune tarot card, which (among other things) encourages an individual to take control of their life and make their own destiny. I thought it was very appropriate for Damian.


End file.
